Winter
by tlyxor1
Summary: Oneshot. On occasion, death hurts. Always, death is hardest on those left behind. Bella Swan grieves. Paul Lahote comforts... in his own special way. "What do you think happens when you die?" AU.


**Winter**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** Sometimes, death is painful. Always, death is hardest on those left behind. Bella Swan grieves. Paul Lahote comforts… in his own special way. AU.

**Rating:** K+ for subject matter.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**Note:** For a girl who could have outshone the stars if she had the chance.

_I've been waiting for the sun to come and melt the snow._ **Winter - Bayside**.

The news hits her like a punch to the gut and she breathes in hard, unable to fill her lungs. The words reverberate around her skull, punishing, unforgiving and so painfully real, all she can do is sit, remember and try not to lose herself in her grief. There is nothing else to it: Angela Weber is dead and life, it seems, will never be the same.

"You'll be alright," Charlie murmurs. He carts thick fingers through her tousled curls and Bella leans into his touch, in need of selfish comfort. She thinks of Mr and Mrs Weber, of Angela's two twin brothers and she can't honestly _imagine_ what they are feeling right now. It feels like _her_ grief is suffocating. What would _their's_ be like?

For a while, she wishes it's just a nasty, terrible prank even as she simultaneously grieves for the friend she's lost and the opportunities the girl will never have. Bella's certain that if she could join all the stars together, they'll still never shine as Angela would have. Life's not fair though and people die before their time and that, she thinks, is the cruelest irony the world has to offer.

One day, she sits on first beach, gaze on the horizon and chin perched on her arm. her hair curls around her face, the wind is cold against her skin, but her mind is elsewhere, remembering the friend she'll never see again. it's been a few weeks since the funeral, another one since _that_ day. The grief has faded, passed to the dull pang of melancholic, reluctance acceptance. She misses the girl something fierce, but has since accepted the hand fate has dealt. Now it's just a matter of moving on and letting go but never, ever forgetting. That, though, is far easier said than done.

"Little Birdy."

Bella glances up, somewhat surprised by the address. She's not heard that pet name in a long while, but only there, a few feet away, stands Paul Lahote.

His hands are shoved into the pockets of frayed cut offs, the planes of his muscled chest and abdomen on display for all the world to see. Paul's a handsome specimen, but unlike the girl she was before Angela's passing, Bella doesn't blush. She feels older - more jaded - and such displays no longer leave her tongue tied.

Angela, she thinks, would have blushed something awful, tittered uncomfortably and looked away.

The thought saddens her.

""Paul," she greets quietly. She's not surprised when he settles down beside her, but she's surprised to feel the heat that radiates off him in droves. He's like a furnace and despite herself, she leans into his warmth. It feels like she's been cold for a long, long time. It unfortunately has nothing to do with the Washington winter that seeps into her bones, but a frigid cold that taints her soul.

"What brings you here, Birdy?"

"Just needed to get away," she answers simply. Paul doesn't pry further and instead, they sit in the companionable silence of those who've known each other for a very long time. That fact gives her comfort and so she nestles into his side, not only for his warmth. He drapes a heavy arm around her, presses a tender kiss to her temple and the silence continues.

"What do you think happens when you die?" She doesn't know what possesses her to ask, but the question lingers between them, heavy with silent queries and uncomfortable implications. She avoids his gaze, no doubt dark and inscrutable as it always is.

"I don't know," he answers. She appreciates his honesty. She appreciates more the fact that he doesn't try to give her empty comfort. Her friend is dead and that is that. "It gets better though. Things will probably not be the same - you most certainly won't - but the pain fades. Eventually."

She doesn't argue with him, but she wonders how she can ever feel alright again. her best friend is _dead_. The girl whose been the twin Bella's never had since they were three years old. How can she live a life without Angela in it, when life _with_ her in it is all Bella has ever known?

"I just wish I knew what happened to her."

"Sometimes, you're just better off not knowing. Then you won't have to wonder what you could have done to stop it. There's probably a reason why they're not talking."

There's an undertone to Paul's voice that she doesn't understand, but she doesn't push for answers she knows he won't give. Instead, she only sighs, closes her eyes and seeks comfort in her old friend's embrace. He isn't her best friend by any stretch of the imagination - _that_ girl is far out of her reach now - but Paul holds her a little bit tighter to his side, leaves a lingering kiss to her temple and for that moment that lasts an eternity, Bella genuinely believes that one day, she'll be okay.


End file.
